


And He Sees

by Lord_of_the_Snakes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gender Dysphoria, Other, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 13:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16118990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_of_the_Snakes/pseuds/Lord_of_the_Snakes
Summary: In the mirror, he sees not his true face, but a lie.





	And He Sees

He was born in an old orphanage with the name Emily Marie Riddle. He was born in a body not his own. He was born into a body that he loathed, with his mother's face, his mother's features. But could he truly loathe the face of his mother, the one who had birthed him and loved him? Yes, but he could not hate her, not truly. No, but he would always hate the reminder of the body he remained trapped in. Always.

When he looks in the mirror, it reflects not himself, but a stranger. He wants to cut away all ties to this shell. He wants to tear away this skin and shed. He wants to remake himself and give life to the person he has always been and always will be. He wants to burn this body and be reborn in its ashes and finally be whole. He wants and he wants and he wants. The angles of his body are wrong. The voice, soft and sweet and feminine, is not his. His hair is not his own, nor his eyes. This body does not belong to him. Everything is wrong. Everything is wrong.

* * *

When he comes to Hogwarts, young and starved and hopeful, he is crushed. He sees that no one would ever truly understand. He sees that he would always be seen as a woman, as a girl, and will always be lesser for it. Regardless of his feeling on this body, on the opposite gender, he will not stand for it. Not when he understands their oppression. Not when he understands their grief. As much as he wishes to right himself, he knows that his freedom will not come in this era. He will look in the mirror, and he will never be able to say he is himself. But he will cope. But he will save. And so he does. And so he will.

* * *

He is thirteen and standing before his greatest fear, cast in shadow and flesh. He sees himself, the young man he knows he is--he has to be, God that has to be him--fading and becoming her. His sharp features soften his hair lightens and lengthens and he--no, she looked happy. But he isn't. He isn't her. He can't be her, not when this body felt like a prison of flesh and bone and blood. Not when he wants more than anything to tear off this face and chop away the signs of his body's betrayal. Not when this body is a cage that held him and crushed him. He was not her. He was not. And for the first time, he hates his mother's face--a hatred truer than anything else and he hated that too.

He looks into the mirror and sees not himself, but a lie.

* * *

He is fourteen, hiding in a bathroom with sorrow streaking down his face. He hates this stupid skirt and he hates this stupid school and he hates stupid Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore, who says he was just a little girl. Dumbledore, who says that he does not know what he is talking about. Dumbledore, who says it is nothing but a phase. Dumbledore, who says it is against the natural order for a girl to dress like a man. He shouldn't be so upset by those words. He is not hurt by "mudblood bitch" or "stupid cunt" or "ugly whore" or 'smarmy bint", so he should not be bothered by Dumbledore's words. But he is. He is not hurt by the slurs of bigoted children. Girl hurts him far more than bitch or cunt ever would. It cut far deeper and writhed under his skin. It tore at him and whispered and made him doubt.

"Girl," it whispers, a never ending chorus of doubt. "Girl." a tidal wave of wrongness that would crash into him again and again. 

"No," he whispers back, a quiet defiance losing itself to the void. "Boy."

"Boy."

* * *

On one of his monthly bathroom escapades, he finds a snake on a sink and speaks serpentine saccharine to it. "Open, show me your secrets." 

And it does. It reveals to him hidden chambers and ancient architecture. It reveals to him a safe hold where he could be alone at last.

In musty pipes and cold stone, he finds a friend. A friend who refers to him properly, the only who refers to him properly. He sees that snakes truly are his only friends. The only he can trust. They cannot reveal his secrets and they will not abandon him. But more than that, while they did not understand, they listened to him. They listened.

He looks into the mirror and sees not himself, but a girl.

* * *

He is fifteen and drowning in the lie that is Emily Marie Riddle. But Emily Marie Riddle is dead. She died before she was born and he was all that was left. He survives, nameless and hollow. He charms and beguiles and enchants. Perhaps, if he is good enough at enchantments, he can have something other then this half existence. He can exist as something other than this shell of a human being. A hopeful fancy from a hopeless young man--if he can even be considered a man. 

He makes his rounds through Hogwarts' halls, ignoring the jeers of lesser men. Ignoring the leers of men who did not and never would understand. He swallows down the screams that want so desperately to escape him. He wants to make them understand, force them to see what they took for granted. He wants someone, anyone who could--understand him and help him and fix him--fix this body. But he was afraid of what would happen if he dared to do such things. So he would grit his teeth and pretend he was okay.

* * *

He finds a mirror made of gold and dreams and lies in a room created by his desires. Engraved upon it are the words ‘erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi’. He knows that this mirror is a deceptive thing, a cruel creation of glass and want. ' I show not your face, but your heart's desire.' But, this too was a lie. it was the only mirror that would show him his true face. And it was wonderful. In its cold crystal, a young man stood. He was tall, with dark curling hair and darker eyes. He was confident and broad and happy. On his badge, a name was carved. "Tom Marvolo Riddle". He stared at Tom, unable to look away from the body he wished was his. Unable to look away from the life he was denied.

He looks into the mirror and sees not himself, but who he should have been.

He looks into the mirror and sees Tom Marvolo Riddle.


End file.
